


how does it feel to be your own deceiver?

by murakamism



Category: Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi (2017), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Glove Kink, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-TLJ, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 18:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13323732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murakamism/pseuds/murakamism
Summary: But in the middle of the night, on a ship traveling through endless space, in a locked room with only the two of them—nobody can fault her for not wanting to be his enemy right now, can they?





	how does it feel to be your own deceiver?

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from the song ["Dangerous" by Son Lux](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5APuIGx2w7Y)
> 
> This is just my first attempt at writing Reylo, so please excuse the possible mischaracterizations... but it won't be my last fic! I want to write so much more for these two <3
> 
> This fic is set at least several months to a year after the events of TLJ. I think Rey and Kylo would have come to a mutual understanding by then, but they'd still be unable to reconcile their sides.

She wakes to a darkly polished ceiling and the faint light of stars from thousands of light years away.

Rey shifts, kicking away the blankets entangled between her legs. Her heart rapidly pounds in her chest, beating against her ribcage. Everything around her feels too foreign, too sterile. It takes another moment of fumbling before she realizes that she’s on a Resistance ship, safe and sound, en route to their new base.

She breathes.

The memories of her nightmare slip through her fingers like sand. All she remembers is motion and darkness, a spike of fear and desperation. The last time this happened she had woken up to her own screaming, to Finn pounding at her door. But when she stills, she picks up nothing, nothing but the sound of her own breathing and an engine faintly whirring in the distance.

Silence.

She sits up and rubs her eyes. She should go back to sleep, get some more rest. But she isn’t tired anymore, not in the way that makes her want to curl up and shut her eyes tight. And she swallows, uncomfortable with the thought of continuing that nightmare.

So she scoots against the wall and stares out the window, out into the blackness of endless space. The stars are distant but twinkling, barely moving as the ship flies through its course. Rey hugs her knees to her chest and calms her breaths—inhale, exhale—tries to empty out the darkness in her head.

But then the Force shifts. The light from the window grows dim, dimmer than it already is, as Kylo’s figure appears in front of her. He’s tall and broad, taking up all this space, even as his figure flickers like a flame about to die.

He turns towards her, that face pale underneath the remaining starlight.

The scar pink against his skin.

Rey stares up at him but says nothing.

He steps towards her.

He blocks out the light from the window with his large frame, with his body all clothed in black. Rey wonders what planet he’s on, where he is, _when_ he is. He wears neither his helmet nor his cape, and yet he’s completely dressed in his armor, his boots and gloves.

Kylo reaches out to cup her jaw. The leather of his gloves is cold against her skin, cold and stiff, and yet she doesn’t flinch. Her face is small in his hand. They stare at each other, and Rey notes the dark circles under his eyes.

When he speaks, his voice is low and hoarse. Rey focuses on nothing else.

“You were having a nightmare,” Kylo says. “I could feel you.”

Rey wonders if she’s done it again, if she’s subconsciously called out to him, clawed at his mind through her bond. Or perhaps he’d come here out of his own will. To make sure her nightmares have stopped, to make sure they can both get enough sleep for once.

“I’m all right now,” Rey replies, her voice coming out in a whisper to match his own. “I don’t even remember what it was about.”

She raises a hand and places it on Kylo’s own, intertwines her slender fingers with his gloved ones.

But in the middle of the night, on a ship traveling through endless space, in a locked room with only the two of them—nobody can fault her for not wanting to be his enemy right now, can they?

Kylo shifts, kicks off his boots, and takes a seat on the mattress. It’s a small bed, small enough that their legs press together. Rey feels his warmth bleed between them even through the fabric of their clothes. He then holds her face in both hands, turns her head slowly to face him. Rey doesn’t let go of her grip, doesn’t let go of her gaze. He looks tired, exhausted, and even resigned—she presses her cheek further against his palm when she notices him part his lips, when he drops his left hand.

“Can I sit with you?” he asks instead.

Rey smiles.

“Of course,” she says. “You don’t have to ask.”

And then, perhaps because she hasn’t seen him _truly_ in front of her for a long, long time, she drops her hand and surges forward to kiss him. She grabs his shoulder to steady herself, presses her mouth against his. Kylo’s lips are soft, gentle, and so is his grip as he runs a gloved hand through her loose hair.

She offers a slow kiss, her eyes sliding shut. Kylo’s hand is large against the side of her face, sliding down her neck, resting on her exposed shoulder. The leather is light and smooth, a ghost of a touch even with his heavy hands, and she shivers as his fingers brush the skin of her throat. He rests his thumb on her collarbone, skims the flesh of her chest just as he finds her tongue, and Rey shivers, goosebumps forming.

“Kylo—“

It’s _Kylo_ tonight, and not _Ben._ She hasn’t called him Ben in a long time, not since they last saw each other, since they realized that they would always be on two opposite sides. But this name isn’t too foreign on her tongue, isn’t too clunky, and really, it’s still _him_ , isn’t it—

She curls her fingers into his hair and whispers his name against his upper lip.

“Will you stay with me until I fall back asleep?”

“Of course I will,” he reassures her. He slides a hand underneath the hem of her shirt, presses warm hands against the smallness of her back, and Rey shivers, aching to both recoil and press into his touch at the same time.

Kylo smiles, just the very edge of the side of his mouth rising in amusement.

“You’re not complaining?” he asks, voice in her ear. Rey flinches, tickled, and Kylo chuckles deeply. She huffs, throws her arms around his neck and buries her face into his shoulder. Even through the Force, he’s physical and solid, real as anything else, and Rey feels the minute movements of his chest as he breathes.

He moves his hands up her back, skims his gloved fingers gently against the shape of her spine. Rey curves her back, swallows down a gasp, and sits stock-still at the sensation of leather against her skin. Kylo presses his mouth into her hair, offers a chaste kiss against her temple, and she smiles against his sleeve.

It’s nice to go slow for once, to just revel in his existence—even though the rest of the Resistance thinks the complete opposite. Rey normally doesn’t like being touched, doesn’t like being held, but some nights are darker than others, and even though she’s still upset that he won’t go home (“That’s not home to me, Rey,” he’d once said. “Home is only _you_ , not them.”)—

She clings onto him, wishing that he wouldn’t disappear.

His thumb rubs circles into her hipbone. He’s stopped moving now, perhaps realized the tension in her limbs, and Rey just breathes, listens to _him_ breathe.

“Where are you right now?” she asks. She feels him stiffen against her, feels the way his jaw clenches against her head.

“ _Rey_.” That voice deep in warning, almost a growl.

“Well, I’ll tell you where I am,” she says, even though she knows she technically won’t. Rey swallows. “I’m on a ship in the middle of outer space, and I’m sick of it. I’m not piloting it, obviously, even though I asked them to let me. And,” she sighs. “I’ve been here for nine cycles already. I really am sick of it.”

Kylo’s hand freezes on her waist. He opens his mouth to speak but no words come out. He pauses, as if testing the words in his head. This is the kind of game they’ve played before: offering bits of information, gauging each other’s reaction, watching as they take the bait. Honestly, they’ve both been security breaches, and they’re long past the point of caring—

He could ask _where are you going?_ and she’d laugh and reply _none of your business,_ and his lips would flatten in a ghost of a smile, before he’d shrug and say _well, aren’t you a tough one_.

Instead, instead, Kylo brushes a hand through Rey’s hair and asks, “Where else would you rather be?”

 _Somewhere with you,_ Rey thinks. _In a better world._

If Kylo’s heard her thoughts, he doesn’t show it.

“Maybe on a battlefield,” Rey finally replies. “Kicking First Order ass.”

Kylo laughs, his voice loud and booming. It’s only her that can hear him of course, but even so, she shoves him away and bites down on the smile that’s begun to form on her lips.

“Am I on this battlefield?” he asks her, raising a brow. Rey leans backwards and hums in thought. Her hand lands on his knee, and she splays her fingers against his trousers.

“Maybe,” she says. “I’ve been training, you know. I can definitely beat you now.”

She means it only half as a joke. And Kylo does smile, except that it’s strained at the edges, and something painful flashes in his eyes. Rey swallows, wondering what else to say, how to lighten the mood, but she can’t think of anything. So instead she stays silent, keeping that apologetic hand on his knee.

“We’ll have to see if you really can,” Kylo tells her. His voice is tight, but the smirk is haughty, and Rey wants to smack it off his face. “Or if you’re just bluffing.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“You know it is.”

Rey huffs, raises her arms in a fighting stance. Kylo only stares at her, amused, before he whips his head to the side and stares at something in the distance that she can’t see. He grits his teeth and his eyes grow dark, and Rey is frightened.

Not of him, just for him.

He looks at her again. He really does look exhausted.

“We’ll find out when we duel again,” he says, and lifts a hand to hold her cheek. Rey only stares. The room is dark, and yet Kylo’s face and hair glow with red flashing lights. “But, Rey, I believe in you.”

He sits up. The lights grow more frantic, more urgent. An alarm rings inside of Rey’s head.

“You’ve always been more powerful,” he says, and then the Force shifts between them.

Kylo vanishes into thin air.

Rey swallows, leaning backwards. The sensation of his gloved hand on her cheeks stays, and then as the air cools it stings at his absence.

“Don’t try to flatter me like that,” she says out loud. “Or else I’ll actually kill you.”

But he doesn’t respond, not even through the bond. Belatedly, Rey realizes he’s broken his promise about staying, but it doesn’t sting as much as the cold air against her exposed skin.


End file.
